A Fortune of Sand

When the obituaries editor asks if he knows of a rich bachelor named Bonafante, Graham lies and says he has “never heard of him” (69). This deception establishes a pattern of concealment that extends across the Lennox family and Marjorie’s experience at the Nightingale. Just as Graham hides his connection to Bonafante, Marjorie conceals from her brother Bernice’s belief that Bonafante lives upstairs, as well as the fact that she has signed a restrictive lease. This parallel secrecy emphasizes the fractured nature of the Lennox family, where information is withheld to manage parental disapproval and avoid conflict. The family dinner at Glen Arden operates on a similar principle of subtext and veiled meaning, with Cecile and Lou’s announcement of their new home prompting questions about their finances that are quickly stifled. Chet’s secret authorship of the obituaries is another layer of this pattern of concealment, allowing her to pursue work that her family would not consider appropriate for her. These different secrets arise from distinct pressures, but together they show how openly acknowledging personal ambitions, family tensions, or uncomfortable questions can threaten the Lennoxes’ carefully maintained social order. The theme of The Corruption Behind Wealth and Respectability emerges most clearly in Graham’s unanswered question about how Cecile and Lou can afford their new mansion, which introduces further suspicion about the sources of wealth concealed beneath their respectable public image.

A note slid under Marjorie’s door warns her that the building is not only lovely but also “haunted,” introducing an atmosphere of Gothic mystery that deepens the mystery surrounding the Nightingale. The residency is presented as a space where artistic opportunity exists alongside restrictions whose purpose remains unclear. Bernice’s reading of the fine print reveals that residents cannot leave until the residency is “deemed over” and that breaking the rules may require unspecified, non-financial “compensation.” These conditions add a more troubling dimension to the recurring motif of keys and locked doors. The residents must lock their doors at all times, and the building itself is secured, while the purpose of some forms of access remains unexplained. Bernice’s question about the unidentified silver key—“Do you know what the silver key is for?” (55)—and the discovery of Bonafante’s separate, locked entrance highlight the layers of access and exclusion within the building. The unsettling ambiguity of the Nightingale is compounded by Bernice’s mention of hearing “the screaming” and the playwright’s reclusive, frantic typing. These elements develop the Gothic atmosphere and raise further questions about the Nightingale’s unusual rules and spaces. The residency continues to provide Marjorie and the other women with space for creative work, even as these details complicate Marjorie’s initial sense of security there.

Instead of the bolts of fabric she anticipated, Marjorie receives only a small bag of “remnants,” a limitation that initially disappoints but ultimately inspires her. Her decision to craft small, personalized gifts for the other residents demonstrates how Art as a Source of Identity and Independence extends beyond self-expression by helping her connect with the other artists and demonstrate her abilities. This creative act contrasts sharply with the stifling expectations of her parents, who feel that a “career in the arts is scandalous” and push her toward finding a “reputable husband” (56). At the Nightingale, Marjorie has the materials and opportunity to develop her skills, symbolized by the sewing machine engraved with her initials, “ML.” The personalized machine reinforces her sense that the residency recognizes her artistic ambitions, although she does not yet know who arranged for the monogram. Bernice’s serious questions about her craft and influences further reinforce this newfound respect, treating Marjorie as a fellow artist whose ideas and ambitions merit serious attention. Her work is taken seriously, in contrast to her parents’ dismissal of an artistic career, while the support of Chet and Graham shows that this opposition does not extend to her entire family.

The structural decision to alternate between scenes at the Nightingale and the Lennox estate, Glen Arden, allows the novel to develop Marjorie’s new life alongside the family dynamics continuing in her absence. The absurd funeral for Poochie, the parakeet who “choked on its own vomit” (87), introduces black comedy into the Glen Arden chapters, particularly through the elaborate funeral arrangements and the family’s characteristic bickering. Yet Granny’s grief is genuine, and Chet’s concern for her prevents the scene from functioning simply as a satire of an emotionally empty family. This chaotic family gathering is juxtaposed with the focused, creative energy at the Nightingale, where Bernice experiments with bending plywood, and Marjorie transforms scraps into art. The alternation also keeps Marjorie connected narratively to the world she has temporarily left behind: Graham and Chet continue protecting her secret even as Lilah’s telegram to the cottage threatens to expose it. At the same time, the Nightingale is becoming less straightforwardly reassuring as Marjorie encounters unexplained rules, sounds, and restricted spaces. The contrast between the settings therefore remains qualified, as each provides forms of connection while placing different pressures on Marjorie. Glen Arden contains the parental expectations she is trying to move beyond but also the siblings who support her, while the Nightingale offers creative opportunity alongside uncertainties she has yet to understand.

Marjorie’s growing attraction to Bonafante also develops The Use of Psychiatric Diagnoses to Control Women. After their encounter, she wonders whether the “silly, enchanted behavior” she is experiencing is the kind that “has sent daughters of other families to medical wards” and questions whether such behavior might reflect “confusion of the heart, not of the head” (98). Her reflection brings a specifically gendered dimension to the earlier concern with institutionalization: Marjorie recognizes that women’s emotional behavior can be interpreted by others as evidence of mental illness. The passage also shows that the possibility of institutionalization has begun to shape how she evaluates her own behavior, extending the theme from an external threat to an awareness that influences her self-perception.

Lying in Charles Bonafante’s unlocked Silver Ghost, Marjorie reaches under the seat and her fingers close around a gun. This discovery of “something cold” introduces a more tangible sense of danger. Throughout these chapters, Bonafante is built up as an enigmatic and desirable figure—a “smooth drink of water” who Bernice believes lives upstairs and whose brief encounter with Marjorie intensifies her fascination with him (57). Her flustered comment to him, “No fire this time” (97), reveals her attraction and recalls their earlier encounter at the Pontchartrain Hotel. The discovery of the gun complicates this romantic impression, especially alongside Hank’s investigation into whether Bonafante is “into something foul” (69). Neither clue establishes Bonafante’s involvement in criminal activity, but together they increase the uncertainty surrounding him. Gramps’s furious reaction to the news of the investigation adds to this suspicion because his insistence that Graham distance himself from the newspaper suggests that he knows more about Bonafante than he is willing to disclose. By ending Chapter 22 with Marjorie holding the gun, the novel turns an object associated with the man who attracts her into a cliffhanger, bringing the romantic and mystery strands of the narrative together while withholding an explanation of Bonafante’s identity and activities.